


Kind Decorations Are Going To Be Used

by crowry



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-10-08 16:47:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17390024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowry/pseuds/crowry
Summary: Some things can't wait.





	Kind Decorations Are Going To Be Used

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the hp-minifest mods for allowing me to join up on the last day for submissions and take forever to submit! It's always a pleasure. [Title taken from the greatest poet of my generation.](https://twitter.com/Horse_ebooks/status/357324068950786050)

**Prompt:** Harry/Draco - Christmas traditions. Established relationship (at least several years living together) and they have their own set of Christmas traditions. I'd really prefer this to be EWE and for this not to revolve around kids, but them as a couple. Basically I just want some comfortable, happy, domestic Christmas-y couple-y things. ;) ([here](http://mini-fest.livejournal.com/115558.html?thread=2282342#t2282342))

 

On the fifth of December, a fire crackles in the first storey drawing room hearth at 12, Grimmauld Place. Draco Malfoy is paging through a stack of catalogues at the writing desk, and Harry is laying on the floor in utter exhaustion. Their dog, an anxious and needy terrier called Professor Bones, snoozes in a sprawl on the couch. 

It is barely six in the evening. 

Suddenly, Draco smacks his hand down on the catalogues. "Damn!" he says. Harry sits up blearily and looks over at his husband. He's not sure if Draco has sworn because he hit his hand, or if the two were related to something else entirely.

"What," he says, without inflection. The dog looks at Draco with the same bewildered and tired expression as Harry. 

"The tree!" he says. "It's the fifth! It's tradition."

Harry stares at him, then looks at Professor Bones, then back at Draco. Then, it dawns on him. "Oh, damn!" he says. "Merlin, Draco, I'm so tired—"

"We have to. Put your coat on."

Harry, feeling belligerent, stumps down the stairs to find his coat. 

In the drawing room, Professor Bones looks at Draco with doggy disdain. "You're coming, too," he tells the dog, who huffs a sigh, like he too has had a long day at the office sorting out splinchings. He slides off the couch anyway, and goes to wait in the doorway for Draco while he puts out the fire.

Five minutes later, they are all bundled up against the wind, Professor Bones wearing the much-hated dog booties Hermione had gotten them for the dog's birthday (baffling, in Draco's opinion), along with his Weasley-made doggy sweater. Draco is also wearing a Weasley-made sweater under his long coat.

"Off we go, I guess," Harry says.

As they do every year on the fifth of December, they step outside into the cold to get a Christmas tree.

***

Since they got Professor Bones, Draco has done a lot less aparating around the city and a lot more traipsing around the parks with his wand hidden up his sleeve, ready to vanish dog poo at a moments notice. He doesn't bother now. They always go to the muggle garden store for the tree, and there are so many muggles around that there's no way to do that discreetly. 

"Which tree are we getting this year, Professor," Harry asks the dog, as if he knows. 

"A nice one," Draco says. "One with enough branches for all the ornaments."

"Maybe if your other dad stopped buying every glittery bauble he sees," Harry says, once again to Professor Bones, "we would be able to find a tree that fit all the ornaments in it."

"You can't turn him against me," Draco says. He stops in front of the gate, which has been threaded through with electric lights. 

Harry stops next to him, and reaches an arm around his neck to pull him down a bit. He plants a tiny kiss on Draco's cheek, releases him, and walks on without him, Professor Bones already in a fit of excitement at the sight of the trees. 

"Let's get a tall one this year," Draco says, after he's caught up. "I think they look grand."

"Maybe," Harry says. 

Here is the truth: Draco knows that they will not get a tall Christmas tree, or at least not very tall. Growing up in the Manor and at Hogwarts, it wasn't unusual to see innumerable ten- or twelve-foot trees, bedecked with magical baubles and fairy lights and charmed icicles. The ceilings in Grimmauld Place are tall, but they usually go for something a bit more modest. 

Harry stills in front of a ten-foot tree, gazing up and around it. Its boughs are thick and sturdy, and Draco can easily picture how lovely it might look, lit up in the former dining room of the place. 

For tradition's sake, steps close to Harry's side and inspects the tree with him. 

"Pros?" he says.

"Fluffy," Harry says immediately. "We could put snow on it."

"It's very tall," Draco says. 

"Hmm." 

"Are you perhaps admitting that I'm right?"

Harry walks away, and Professor Bones looks back at Draco with his whiskery smile. 

Draco takes another look at the tree, then follows to the next one Harry has stopped in front of. 

"Pros?" Harry asks. 

"We can carry it home easily," Draco says. He might be taller than this tree, actually. It's practically a miniature. "You can put it up your sleeve."

A nearby couple breaks into giggles, clearly overhearing him. "I think we're taking that one, actually," says one of the women. "Sorry boys."

"I'm devastated," Draco tells them, eyes on Harry's. Harry snorts at him and hands him Professor Bones' lead.

"Meet you back here in ten minutes," Harry says, and then walks away.

"Well, I guess we're getting serious now," Draco tells Professor Bones. The dog looks at him, either uncomprehending or with complete exasperation. 

They press on in the dark, through the bizarre chopped-down forest. The trees have been arranged by height, and Harry went in towards the larger side. Draco, a quitter at heart, goes towards the middle. He didn't used to understand why Harry was so insistent on purchasing a tree when so many were readily available in the woods. He could have even conjured a decent tree, given ten minutes and a good cup of coffee. 

He gets it now, of course. 

When he finds it, he knows. Harry will always either go to one extreme—the largest or smallest trees—out of what is probably spite, and Draco is somehow always the one who finds the perfect middle ground of Christmas trees. It's wide, and the shape of it reminds Draco of the fancy gowns worn by some of his French ancestors in their portraits, back at the Manor. It gives the impression of a curtsy. 

It is only a foot or so taller than him, and he knows the second he sees it that Harry will love it. Rather than waiting for Harry by the cashier after the ten minutes, he just loudly says, "Potter, I've got your tree," and then ties Professor Bones' lead to it. 

"Stay here, Professor," he says. 

Harry is already making his way over when Draco emerges in search of him. He's smiling, and holding two cups of hot chocolate. 

"Let's see it, then," Harry says. He passes Draco one of the cups, and then, reaching for his free hand, slides his fingers through Draco's. Draco leads the way back.

Professor Bones is sitting dutifully at the tree, his tiny potato of a tail wagging at the sound of their approach. 

"Pros?" Draco asks. He sips his hot chocolate, which is good. Harry probably didn't look at any trees at all. 

"Not too tall," Harry says. "Full branches. It's a good shape. We'll look like prats carrying it home."

"I said 'pros'," Draco reminds him. "Here's one: I found it, so it's perfect."

"Cons," Harry says, looking at Draco rather than the tree.

"It will be heavy for you to carry back to the house by yourself," he says. 

Harry rolls his eyes. "What else?"

"None, it's perfect."

They stare at each other for a moment, then back at the tree.

"It is good."

"If you're not feeling fulfilled, we could always get a tree for every room," Draco tells him.

"Stay here, I'll be right back," Harry says, completely ignoring Draco's very good suggestion as usual. 

Abandoned, Draco squats down and scratches Professor Bones behind the ears. "Someday he'll come around," he says. "What shall we get him for Christmas this year?"

Deep in conversation with the dog and himself, Draco barely hears Harry's return until one of the abrasively earthy gardeners says, "Alright, this one, then?" and then hefts the tree up onto his shoulders without much of a warning.

They follow him up to the counter and Harry hands over a wad of Muggle bills to the gardener. Draco throws away the empty paper cups, ignoring the looks of desperation Professor Bones is giving both him and the trash. 

"Do you need help getting it to your car?" he asks them. 

"We'll manage," Harry says.

As is tradition, the second the gardener hands them the netted tree back, Harry casts a lightening charm on the thing, and asks, voice full of humor, "You can carry it, right?"

Draco lifts it with one hand, as it now weighs less than an umbrella, and carefully holds it in his arms. "Of course," he says. 

"Thanks again!" Harry calls, waving back at the bewildered gardener.

They wait until they're a bit away to burst into laughter. 

"It doesn't get old," Draco says. Out of the view of the Muggle public, he slings the tree over his shoulder like a broomstick.

"Next year lets give it to Professor Bones to carry," Harry says.

"We _will_ get arrested by the DMLE," Draco tells him. "But I think that's worth it."

They arrive home before too long, and, once he has finally been freed from his booties, Professor Bones bounds up the stairs, not to be seen again. Harry follows him up in pursuit of the Christmas storage, which is shrunken somewhere in the 2nd floor cupboards. 

Draco takes the tree to the sparsely decorated former dining room, leans it carefully against the wall, and sets a fire going in the hearth.

He remembers the portrait of his great aunt, screaming on the wall when he had first moved in with Harry Potter, and he wonders what she'd think of their traditions. He remembers himself, visiting this place as a child, and wonders what that boy would think of him now.

"We have more than I remember," Harry says, kneeing the doors out of the way with his arms full of shrunken boxes. "Do you sneak more in while we're packing up?"

"No, but that's a good idea," Draco says. He absolutely does that already, but he won't admit it to Harry. At least, not right now. That's tradition. 

"I don't know if I'll have the energy to decorate tonight if I don't get a kiss first," Harry says. "Which would be a shame."

"I don't know if I can spare one, Potter," Draco says, taking half the boxes from him and dropping them haphazardly onto the small table. 

As is tradition, Harry steals the kiss anyway.


End file.
